


Death, Despair and Drugs

by Morshy_Sins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Crying, Drug Abuse, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drugs, Injury, Minor Character Death, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morshy_Sins/pseuds/Morshy_Sins
Summary: The next thing he knew, he was walking down the rainy streets of Manhattan, alone. His backpack which normally felt like nothing, seemed to weigh enough to crush the Hulk, as he was without the energy he normally possessed. Everything felt wrong. He was tired. His red-rimmed eyes raised to meet the face of the stranger in front of him, a stranger wearing dark clothes and holding a hand out, offering him a bottle of small red pills.-or-Peter receives news he never would have seen coming; what he does in response is something no one could have seen coming.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Death, Despair and Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> This was a starter I wrote for an rp I've taken part in. In the story Peter actually doesn't die, I just enjoyed the cliff-hanger-esque ending of the starter and decided to share it.

Peter was tired. All he wanted to do was have a hot meal and curl up in bed and go to sleep. He'd gotten hurt on patrol when his webs misfires and sent him plummeting into a railing. The injury itself wasnt as bad as it looked, nothing was broken or severely damaged, just a lot of blood had come pouring out. As such, he was holding onto his side, where the stitches were already dissolving under the bandages wrapped around his midriff under the plain grey hoodie he wore. He was tired. He just wanted to change his clothes and hug May as they watched old reruns of sitcoms they enjoyed. A car sped past, wheels hitting a puddle and launching water over his legs. All he could do was continue walking down the street as the rain continued to beat down on the sleepless streets of New York.

It was when he was about to get on the subway back to Queens that he had received the call; May had been hit by a drunk driver on the streets outside the hospital she worked at. She was quickly given care however ultimately the damage was too severe and she had passed away. After moments of silence, the person had hung up on him as he stood listlessly on the platform. It was like everything had slowed down. Nothing seemed in focus and sounds were distant. He had nowhere he wanted to return to. His home was without his Aunt and without her it wasn't a home at all. He had no one now. He wouldn't rely on his friends and he couldn't rely on his team, to be honest they hadn't even crossed his mind.

The next thing he knew, he was walking down the rainy streets of Manhattan, alone. His backpack which normally felt like nothing, seemed to weigh enough to crush the Hulk, as he was without the energy he normally possessed. Everything felt wrong. He was tired. His red-rimmed eyes raised to meet the face of the stranger in front of him, a stranger wearing dark clothes and holding a hand out, offering him a bottle of small red pills. He'd normally never agree to anything like this, he'd normally avoid coming into contact with these kinds of people when outside of the suit, but then again he normally had an aunt waiting for him at home. So he took the bottle, only hearing the words "You won't even remember your problems," through the cotton that seemed to fill his head and ears. He didn't care what they were, all he knew was that they weren't good. He couldn't be with May when she passed, but the least he could do was let a part of her be with him when he joined her.

He trudged back to Queens on foot, soaked through with rain water and filled to the bone with the chill of night. He walked into his apartment, leaving small puddles behind him, as he moved to May's room. He sat on her bed and squeezed the lid off the bottle with enough force to crack the container itself. Dropping the lid to the homely blanket beneath him, he raised the bottle and chewed and gnawed and swallowed the pills, not paying attention to the tightness of his chest or the hot tears racing down his pale and freezing cheeks. Once the bottle was completely empty, he threw it at the wall hard enough for it to shatter as he let out a gut-wrenching, soul-crushing, heartbroken howl of agony; the first sound he'd made since the call ended. He continued to scream and cry until his voice was wrecked and the walls were vibrating with the annoyed banging of the neighbours.

He fell to lay back on the bed, staring up at the plain off-white ceiling as sobs tore from his chest, hands raising to press against his eyes. He eventually passed out from exhaustion, laying on his aunt's bed with sopping, baggy clothes, tears all over his face and a stomach full of whatever substance he had been given. He didn't know if he would wake up but he could only hope he wouldn't; he was tired.


End file.
